


30 Day OTP Challenge

by BonitaBreezy



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Complete, I'll update the character tag as they appear, M/M, This is probably going to be mostly fluff, but we'll see if I can wrangle up some other type of emotion from time to time, there will probably be other characters as time goes on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonitaBreezy/pseuds/BonitaBreezy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty days, thirty prompts, one OTP.<br/>Discontinued due to finals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding Hands

                “Are you going to be okay?”

                Phil almost jumped at the sound of Clint’s voice, surprised that he hadn’t heard him coming.  Clint was light on his feet and excellent at getting the drop on people, but Phil was usually extremely aware of his surroundings.  Knowing that he was so distracted that he’d let his guard down was harrowing, and he was already upset enough as it was.  He was so distracted by his own thoughts and worries that he forgot Clint had even asked him a question until he prompted him again.

                “Baby?”

                “I’m fine, Clint,” he answered quickly, pushing aside the feelings and trying to force his brain to focus.  He was upset, yes, and that was understandable, but that didn’t mean he could let himself fall to pieces.  Competence was his thing.  Control was what he did.  Without it, he was next to useless, and that was absolutely unacceptable.

                “Don’t lie to me,” Clint said sternly, placing his hands on Phil’s shoulders and looking him in the eyes pointedly.  “You’re not fine.  How could you possibly be fine?  You’d have to be a robot.”

                “Well, some people seem to think I am,” Phil offered with a forced smile, but Clint remained unamused.

                “Don’t do that, Phil.  Don’t hide from me.  You’re not okay, and I don’t expect you to be.  You don’t have to pretend.”

                Phil wanted nothing more than to burrow into Clint’s arms and cry.  To let everything fall by the wayside and just let his emotions run wild, but he knew that he couldn’t.  There was no room to lose control of himself in his life.  He had to be vigilant.  He had to be in control.  People depended on it.  Clint depended on it, and the one thing Phil would never, ever do was let Clint down.

                “I’m okay, Clint,” he tried again, and Clint just scowled at him and gave him a small shake, as if he could literally shake some sense in to him.

                “I know you’re not, Phil.  I know you think you have to be strong and dependable all the time, and admittedly a lot of the time you do.  A lot of the time it’s just you standing between an agent and a breakdown, but this is not the same thing.  I know it and you know it.  This isn’t about work.  This isn’t about SHIELD or Agent Coulson or the Avengers or me or anything like that at all.  This is about you and your family.  You don’t have to be vigilant and strong and in control right now. I’ve got your back.  I swear I won’t let anything happen if you let your guard down, okay? I love you and I’ll watch out for you.  You can lean on me, Phil.”

                Clint looked almost desperate, and despite his reservations, Phil felt himself giving in.  He was sad and tired, and it was so hard to keep trying to act like he was okay when he really wasn’t.  He nodded and let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  His shoulders sagged and he leaned forward to rest his face against Clint’s neck, taking in everything that was Clint and drawing strength and comfort from him.

                “Thank you,” he said quietly, and Clint hummed in response, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down Phil’s back.

                “Are you ready?” Clint asked after a few minutes.

                “No,” Phil answered, voice wavering. “But it’s time.”

                “I’ll be right here with you the whole time,” Clint promised, pulling back and straightening Phil’s tie affectionately.

                “Thank you for taking care of me. I love you so much.”

                “I love you, too,” Clint told him, taking Phil’s hands in his own and pressing kisses to his knuckles.

                As they left the room, Clint held on to one of Phil’s hands, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently.  He continued to hold on as they entered the sanctuary and sat in the front row designated for family, and when it was Phil’s turn to stand up and deliver a eulogy for his father, Clint went with him, and he never let go.


	2. Cuddling

                “Coulson, what the hell are you doing in my building?”

                Phil paused in the middle of writing up a requisition for improvements to Natasha’s suit-she’d mentioned that the collar chafed, which, for Natasha, was practically complaining-and looked up at Fury with a quirked brow and an expression that read ‘what the fuck does it look like I’m doing?’.

                “Backed up paperwork, sir,” he answered, just barely managing to contain the sarcasm.

                “I know what you’re doing, Coulson. My question is what you are doing _here_.  If I recall, you barely survived a wound to the chest seven months ago, and that you agreed you’d keep the working to an absolute minimum until medical cleared you for field duty.  So why are you here?”

                “I was just…”

                “Just thinking you were gonna get away with it.  Well, hell no.  Not on my watch.  Get the hell out of my building. Go home.  Do whatever it is that you do with your husband and never ever tell me about it.  I know enough about Barton to last me a lifetime without having to picture him naked on top of that. Now go.”

                “Just let me…” Phil tried, scrambling to write a few more things down as quick as he could.

                “Phil, do not make me have security escort you from the building.  I will do it, and I will take a video of it, and I will blackmail Stark into making sure it gets to every single SHIELD Agent that ever was and ever will be.”

                Phil narrowed his eyes challengingly and Fury narrowed his right back.  They stared at each other in silence for a full minute before Fury started reaching for the phone, and Phil grumbled and started packing up his laptop and paperwork.  There was nothing more effective than threatening to ruin his hard-built reputation.

                “Good man,” Fury said, obviously pleased with himself. “I don’t want to see you back here until ten tomorrow…”

                “But sir!” Phil protested. “There’s…”

                “Shut up, Coulson.  Ten.  I’ll have you barred from the building, don’t think I won’t.  Now get out.”

                Phil scowled at him the entire way out of the building, not even putting up an argument when Fury actually walked him outside, hailed a cab, and gave the driver the address for him because he was so focused on making his glare as intense as possible.  It was an expression that would freeze most people in their tracks, but Nick Fury didn’t bat an eyelash.  Bastard.

                He had to admit to himself though, as he rode home, that he was tired as hell and his chest was aching.  He might have overworked himself just a little bit.  Maybe.  By the time he got home, he really was tired, and the ride up to the communal residential area seemed to take forever, despite the elevators being amazingly fast.  The tower was strangely quiet for it only being nine o’ clock, but nothing seemed ominous, so he figured everything was all right.  Apparently, even the ticking time bomb that was the Avengers had to be calm sometimes. 

                He saw Thor and Natasha in the living room watching a Russian drama, Thor sitting on the floor with Natasha on the couch behind him, French braiding his hair.  Natasha and Thor had a strange friendship, a lot of which seemed to involve watching foreign movies and doing each other’s hair, and one memorable time, painting each other’s nails.  Honestly, it was just safer not to question it.  She looked up at him and nodded in greeting as he walked past towards the private elevator that led to their individual floors, and he nodded back.

               Normally, he would have stopped and had a brief conversation, but he was just getting more and more tired as time went on.  Being in his own apartment seemed more and more like a great idea.  He’d never tell Fury that, though.  He let out a small sigh of satisfaction when the door finally slid open, stepping out of his shoes and hanging his coat on the rack, tossing his keys in the dish on the hall table.

              “Phil?” Clint called groggily from the living room. “Are you just now getting home?  I should have come to get you…”  He was sluggishly sitting up from the couch by the time Phil got in to the living room.  The TV was on low volume, playing some Christmas movie, and the lights from their little Christmas tree were blinking merrily from the corner.

              “I’m a grown man, Clint.  I don’t need you to collect me from work,” he admonished gently as he took off his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.

              “Clearly you do, if you’re just getting home now,” Clint responded. “And fifty bucks says you didn’t leave by yourself, either.  Wanna bet on it?”

              “No,” Phil answered sheepishly.  Seeing Clint here, all sleep-ruffled and content made him want to kick himself for spending time at the office when he could have been here.

              “Yeah, I thought so,” Clint responded.

              “Oh, shut up,” Phil grumbled, dropping on the couch next to him.  He reached over to grab the remote, flipping off the television. “I’m tired and my chest hurts and I’d like to sit here quietly with you for a while, if you can be bothered to stop harassing me for a moment.”

              “Harassing you, my ass,” Clint grumbled quietly, before saying, more seriously, “Do you need some painkillers?”

              “No, I’m okay.  I’m sore, but it’s not terrible,” he said honestly, rubbing tenderly at the scar from Loki’s scepter as if it would alleviate some of the ache.  Clint nodded, making himself comfortable on the couch once more, burrowing his back into the corner and propping his feet up on the coffee table.  He knew that Phil wouldn’t lie about his pain levels, and it was nice not to be mother-henned for once.  Phil let out a breath, feeling his shoulders relax and loosen before he shifted so that he could rest his ear against Clint’s chest, stretching his legs out all the way.  He hummed happily when Clint obediently wrapped his arms around him, resting his cheek against Phil’s hair and letting out a content sigh.

              It must have been a very festive sight, the two of them curled up on the couch together in the darkness, blinking Christmas lights casting colored glows across their skin.  It might have even been Christmas card material, if someone was there to capture the moment, but no one was.  It was just the two of them, and Phil was perfectly fine by that.

            “We can’t sleep out here. We’ll both regret it in the morning,” Clint said, his voice low, as if speaking at normal volume would break the mood.  Phil almost thought it might.

            “No, we can’t,” he agreed, tilting his head up to look Clint in the face. “But shh, less thinking, more cuddling.”  Clint barked out a laugh and squeezed Phil tighter, kissing him languidly on the mouth.

          “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this little headcanon that Natasha and Thor are total bros that do girly things because Thor doesn't give two shits about Midgardian concepts of femininity/masculinity and Natasha likes to hear his stories.


	3. Gaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a day late, I know. I'm going to do my best to get the one that was actually due today out tonight, but I've got a ton of homework so I can't make any promises.

When Phil entered the main floor of the tower he was met by yelling, cheering, and what was unmistakably Steve Rogers yelling, “HA HA HA, SUCK IT!”  Clearly, whatever was happening was absolutely something Phil did not want to miss.  He grabbed an apple from the kitchen and then headed for the living room, where the entire team was assembled around the television, watching Steve and Bruce play the Avengers fighting game that wasn’t even supposed to be released for a few months.  Tony had procured it for them about a week ago, but they hadn’t had the time to really play it yet, and it appeared they’d all been there for hours, challenging each other over and over.

Steve let out another whoop of triumph as the mini-Thor he was controlling pulled a combo, slamming Bruce’s Iron Man up into the air with Mjolnir and striking him back down on the ground with a blast of lightning.  Phil received a round of hellos, while Clint stood up so that Phil could take his seat on the couch, and then settled back down on the arm next to him. 

“Hi, baby,” he greeted, pressing a kiss to the top of Phil’s head, eyes never leaving the screen as Cap finally beat Bruce by knocking him out of the ring.  The little Thor did a victory pose, letting out a mighty roar with lightning striking down behind him.

“Well, that’s certainly dramatic,” Phil remarked, and Thor grinned widely.

“I like it!” he declared, and honestly, Phil wasn’t surprised at all, but he didn’t have the chance to comment, because Clint was leaning over him and making grabby hands at Bruce, who snorted and handed off the controller.

“You ready to face the master, Cap? Think you can handle it?” Clint taunted, quickly selecting his character, making the game announcer intone “Black Widow!” in an impressive voice, and waiting for Steve to make his choice.  Steve picked Hulk, and Clint laughed.

“You’re so intimidated by my awesomeness that you have to choose the heavy hitter?” Clint taunted as the characters did their opening battle poses, a little animated Bruce letting out a loud roar and turning in to the Hulk while Natasha did a few kicks and punches.

“Yeah, says the guy who chose Natasha,” Steve snorted.

“You’re a bit cocky for a game you’ve only been playing for a few hours,” Phil told Clint, who snorted.

“I have the right, no one’s beaten me yet. I am the _champion_ ,” he said seriously as he made Natasha take the Hulk to the ground with a thigh-choke, which made Bruce snort at the lack of realism.

“We’ve been playing for hours, and Clint has won every match he played,” Natasha explained. “After the first two hours we decided he wasn’t allowed to play as Hawkeye, so to be fair none of us can play our character either.”

As she finished her explanation, Clint beat Cap, letting out a cry of victory and jumping off the couch to do a ridiculous victory dance.

“HA, I AM THE GREATEST PLAYER WHO EVER LIVED!” He yelled, “NO ONE CAN BEAT ME!”

“Sit down and shut up,” Phil commanded. “You haven’t played me, yet.  Cap, give me the controller.”

“Phil, you’re adorable,” Clint responded, a cocky grin on his face, taking up his controller once more. “You really think you can beat me when you’ve never even played before?”

“We’ll see,” Phil shrugged as Clint selected Cap, looking at him with a quirked brow as if he expected Phil to complain about it.  Phil ignored the look and chose Hawkeye, which made Clint chuckle amusedly.

Phil didn’t react to the taunting, instead choosing pay attention so that he could move as soon as the game allowed him.  He made Hawkeye duck and roll immediately, ensuring that Cap’s shield went over his head and didn’t catch him on its return.  It put Phil’s character close enough to Clint’s that he could kick him, and the stumble gave him the time to kick him again and get back up.  He hit the button to select the bow and used it as a blunt weapon, knocking Cap to the ground.

The room had gone completely silent except for the sounds of the game, and Clint scowled, mashing a couple buttons that had Cap swinging his legs and and taking Hawkeye out at the knees, hopping back to his feet.  Hawkeye got back up as well, and Phil had him fire an arrow and then deliver a kick-punch-punch combo, repeating it and not giving Cap a chance to recover until all his hit points were gone.  The little onscreen Clint fired an arrow into the air that exploded into fireworks, and Phil set his controller down on the coffee table.

“Well, that was fun.  I think I’m going to go take a shower,” he said, standing up.

“Wait, wait, wait a damn minute!” Tony protested. “What the hell was that, Agent? How did you even know how to play the game?”

“I was the Avenger’s consultant,” Phil said, feeling smug. “Good night.”

There was complete silence as he headed towards the elevator, and right as the doors were closing, he heard Clint laugh and say,

“God, that was hot.”


	4. On a Date

“Hey, Clint! Cap doesn’t believe me when I tell him that the Indiana Jones movies are the best thing that ever happened to the movie industry…”

“I don’t blame him,” Clint interrupted Tony as he looked under the kitchen table and then around the couch, “you told him the same thing about The Hangover last week.  Have you seen my boots?”

“What? No, ask JARVIS. And anyway, the point is that now we have to make him watch. You in?”

“Can’t tonight, I have a date,” Clint answered distractedly.

“Your boots are at the end of the couch in Agent Coulson’s office,” JARVIS spoke up as Tony sputtered, “Clint, a date?  You’re going to ditch us for your man candy? Not cool! Whatever happened to bros before hoes?”

“Firstly, if Phil ever hears you called him a ho, he’ll taze you until your grandchildren feel it; secondly, Phil’s been my best friend for fifteen years, so I think he wins out on both accounts; and thirdly, I have not been on a normal date with my husband in eight months, god damn it, and if you do something to screw it up I will skin you alive.”

“But…” Tony started.

“And I’ll tell Pepper!” Clint interrupted viciously.  Tony fell silent, looking vaguely nauseated at the idea of whatever punishment Pepper would choose to dole out.  He looked, for a moment, like he might say something anyway, but appeared to think better of it.

“Fine,” he pouted. “Have fun being boring and old and married.  I’ll ask Bruce, he’s a way better bro than you are.  In fact, you’ve been downgraded in your bro-hood. Natasha has replaced you. And Natasha hates me. So now you know exactly how low you are on the totem pole.”

“Oh god, not that,” Clint snorted as he headed for the elevator. “I’m gonna go cry my eyes out.”

“You should!” Tony yelled at his back as the elevator doors slid shut behind him.  Phil was waiting for him in the living room when Clint reached their apartment, all ready to go with his jacket thrown over the back of the couch.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, as Clint entered. “That took a while.”

“Yeah, I had to fend off Tony,” Clint snorted. “And my boots weren’t even down there.  I’ll just be another minute, babe, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Phil told him. “We’ve got all night.”  The thought of having Phil all to himself for a full night made him grin, and he bounded off towards Phil’s office happily to retrieve his boots.  His boots were exactly where JARVIS had said they would be, and he could have kicked himself for not asking sooner.  But he still wasn’t really used to living with a pseudo-omniscient super computer in the ceiling, so it wasn’t really his fault.

“I’m ready!” he called as soon as he’d finished tying the laces, heading back down the hall to the living room.  Phil handed him his black jacket with the SHIELD logo on the arm, because it was made of insulated material that made it warmer than a parka, and he didn’t see the point in buying a coat if he already had one.  Clint wasn’t overly concerned with his clothing choices, much to Phil’s unending frustration.  He was perfectly happy in jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies, and if he needed to dress up any more than that, he was also perfectly fine with letting Phil choose them for him.

They practically snuck out of the tower, trying to avoid getting caught by Tony and having to waste at least ten minutes threatening him with Pepper again.  It was cold enough outside that Clint could see his breath.  He zipped up his jacket and offered Phil his right hand, which Phil took with an indulgent smile.  They always walked like this, with Clint to Phil’s left so that they could both keep their gun hands empty.  Maybe they were paranoid bastards, but Clint would rather be paranoid and alive then stupid and dead.  Besides, even in a place like New York, sometimes two men walking down the street holding hands turned out to be a problem.  Not that either of them would need a gun to handle a situation like that, but having their gun hands free just made them more comfortable.   It secretly made Clint feel like his left-handedness was made especially to accommodate Phil, even though that was stupidly cheesy and he’d never ever tell anyone he thought that.

“So where are we going?” he asked Phil as they turned off Park Avenue and on to 57th.

“You’ll see,” Phil answered, and Clint stuck his tongue out at him, but fell silent anyway, letting him be secretive.  Once they turned on to fifth and started heading towards forty-ninth street, Clint was pretty sure he knew where they were going, and he couldn’t keep back the grin as Phil led him towards the ice rink at Rockefeller Center.  He pulled Phil to a stop so that he could kiss him enthusiastically.  Some of Clint’s only good childhood memories consisted of ice skating on risky ponds with Barney, and as a kid he’d always wanted to skate at Rockefeller Center.  Of course, he’d lived in New York for almost twenty years and had gone skating there before, but the novelty had never worn off, and Phil taking him there just proved how well Phil knew him.

“I love you,” he told Phil seriously.

“I love you, too. Come on.”

Clint was practically vibrating with excitement as they rented their skates.  He couldn’t wait to get out on the ice.  He had his skates on twice as fast as Phil did, and then he fidgeted impatiently while he waited for Phil to finish.

“I’m happy that you’re excited about this,” Phil told him while Clint practically dragged him to the rink entrance. “But do you think you could maybe not pull my arm off? I’m not as young as I used to be, you know.”

“You say that like you’re old,” Clint snorted.

“I am old,” Phil argued. “You married an old man.  Now be nice to your old husband and stop yanking on me.”  Clint sighed, but he let go of Phil’s arm, letting him enter the ice at his own pace.  No matter what he said about being old, though, once he’d oriented himself on the ice he moved like he was born for it.

Clint took his hand again, once they started moving, trying to convince Phil to so stupid little tricks and spins with him, which Phil indulged, most of the time.  They were really starting to get in to it, laughing crazily and clinging to each other, when a huge explosion shook the rink from a few streets over.  Clint’s laughter died immediately, and he turned to pouting instead.

Phil swore, fishing his phone from his pocket as they made their way off the ice, moving around the rest of the skaters who had frozen in place to stare in the direction of the explosion.  Clint’s phone went off as he was untying his skates.   It was a message from Steve, simply reading,

_“Tony and Thor headed to you for pick up. ETA two minutes.”_

By the time Tony and Thor had arrived, drawing a lot of attention from the crowd, they’d both gotten just barely gotten their shoes back on.

“Status report?” Phil asked, taking the ear piece that Thor offered him as Clint arranged his quiver at the optimal position on his back, not quite used to have it hang on a strap over his chest instead of just clipping to his back anymore.

“Not really sure, some sort of fire breathing slime monster thing on 46th,” Tony reported. “Come on, let’s get a move on.”

“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Clint said, and Phil nodded at him in agreement just before Tony grabbed Clint and hit the thrusters.

Maybe one day they’d have a date that didn’t end with property damage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a day behind on these prompts, I know, but its finals and I have so much work to do. I'm about three steps away from a mental breakdown. Hopefully this weekend I'll get myself back up to speed.


	5. Kissing

Clint wasn’t really a morning person, but sometimes he had a tendency to wake up at some random early hour and lay in bed until he was able to fall asleep again.  So Phil wasn’t really all that surprised when his alarm went off and Clint had his cheek on Phil’s shoulder and was tracing little designs onto his chest with the tip of his finger.

Phil reached over to turn off the alarm, trying not to shift too much, because he definitely had a few minutes to lay there and let Clint touch him.  Clint huffed out a laugh, like he knew exactly what he was thinking and tilted his head so that he could press a small kiss on Phil’s skin.

“Good morning,” Phil greeted quietly, his voice raspy from sleep.   Clint shifted up on to his elbow and leaned in to give Phil another kiss, soft and lingering, and over all very nice, despite the morning breath.

“Mornin’,” Clint replied as he pulled back, a small smile on his face, “and happy birthday.”

Phil groaned quietly at the reminder. His birthday had never really been something he’d been particularly invested in, and turning fifty was not something Phil thought was worthy of celebration.  He was certainly happy that he was still alive and breathing, of course, but as good shape as he kept himself in, there were certain things that he just couldn’t do anymore, and getting older wasn’t going to help that.  It was better than the alternative, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.

“Don’t make grumpy face,” Clint chided him. “You’ve made it farther than a lot of people in our line of work have. That’s something to be proud of. Besides, you’re still sexier than any man I’ve ever met and more capable than anyone on the planet.  Except for maybe Pepper, but she’s highly trained in the fine art of Stark-wrangling.”

“Point,” Phil answered, glancing at the clock and frowning to see ten minutes had passed.  He really didn’t have any more time to lie around, no matter how much he really wanted to.  He had to get ready for work. The life of a SHIELD agent never really stopped.

“Go jump in the shower,” Clint told him, on the same page as always. “You don’t have to wait around in bed with me. I’ll fall back to sleep soon.”  Before Phil rolled out of bed, Clint pressed another kiss to his face and smiled at him blissfully.

“I love you.  I’ll see you later.’

Clint hummed happily in response, burrowing down into Phil’s pillow and closing his eyes while Phil headed towards the shower.

* * *

 

                Things didn’t get strange until later.  Clint popping in to his office to hand him a report and giving him a kiss with it was a bit unusual, but it wasn’t downright odd.   Throughout the day, though, Clint seemed to get more and more creative in delivering a bunch of random kisses, despite their general no-PDA-at-work policy.  At one point, he’d been walking down the hall, giving an assignment to a junior agent, and Clint had swung down from the ceiling and kissed him upside down, making Phil frown at him for the lack of professionalism and the junior agent shriek and jump.  Clearly they’d have to work on his reactions to surprise if he was going to be any sort of asset to the organization.  Other times involved ambushing him outside the cafeteria (which almost got him laid out flat before Phil realized who it was), pulling him in to random janitor’s closets, and once when they just happened to be passing each other in the hallway.

                Phil couldn’t figure out exactly why Clint was doing it, but his emotions on the matter ranged from mushy to annoyed.  He wasn’t able to ask about it, though, because every time was like a hit and run. He’d get kissed and then Clint would be gone before he could say a word.  He didn’t get out of work until nine, and then Tony had insisted on taking everyone out to dinner in honor of Phil’s birthday, and then there had been present opening (which was actually a huge surprise. He hadn’t gotten so many presents for his birthday since he was a child) so it was almost midnight when they finally got in to bed. 

                Phil had almost drifted to sleep when Clint leaned over him and kissed him quickly on the mouth, muttering a quiet, “Fifty.”

                “What?” Phil asked, hoping he might actually get an answer.

                “Fiftieth birthday, fifty birthday kisses,” Clint told him.  And strangely, that made complete sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late I know! Sorry. Hopefully will catch up this weekend. Finals have been rough.


	6. Wearing each other's clothes

                Tony could have sworn his arc reactor had flickered when he walked in to the kitchen one Tuesday morning and found Phil Coulson at the kitchen table, looking pale and sipping on some tea.  Clint was behind him at the stove, making what appeared to be turkey soup.  He’d been about ninety-four percent positive that Phil wasn’t capable of getting sick. He’d quell viruses with a glare and his no-nonsense attitude.  But he was absolutely sick, no doubt about it.  His nose was red and he was sniffling pitifully as he sipped his tea.  He paused for a moment, before quickly setting down his tea and sneezing violently, twice.  He grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and wiped his nose, letting out a pathetic groan.  Clint immediately stopped what he was doing and turned around to wrap his arms around Phil’s shoulders and press a kiss to the top of his head.

                “Can I get you anything, baby?” he asked.

                “Just…just stand there for a minute,” Phil answered.  Clint obediently stood still and Phil leaned back against Clint’s stomach.  As Clint started to massage his shoulders, Tony realized that Phil was wearing a black t-shirt with the words “Gunshots attract zombies. Bows are quiet,” across the chest.

                “Do you need something, Stark?” Phil asked, and Tony abruptly realized that they were both staring at him, and that he’d been standing in the doorway staring at them.

                “That’s not your shirt,” he said stupidly.

                “No,” Phil agreed. “Is that a problem?”  Clint was glaring at him over Phil’s head, as if he thought that maybe Tony had suddenly gone homophobic, even though he’d known that they were married since they’d moved in to the tower over a year ago.

                “Nope. Just surprised that Agent is apparently human like the rest of us. Carry on.” They both watched him as he turned and fled the kitchen to head back to his workshop.  Eating really wasn’t worth shaking up his beliefs.

* * *

                The next time it happened, Tony had just finished a prototype of a boomerang arrow (because boomerangs) and was really excited to get Clint to try it out.  He’d headed straight up from his workshop to Clint and Phil’s floor, and he’d been standing there knocking (valiantly resisting the urge to just have JARVIS open the door) for five minutes before the door jerked open suddenly.

                “God damn it, Stark, do you have any idea what time it is?” Clint grumbled, hair sleep mussed and pillow creases on the side of his face.

                “Uh…” Tony responded.

                “It’s four,” Clint answered his own question. “In the morning. The world better be ending or I swear to god I will kill you.”

                “But boomerangs,” Tony tried to explain.  Clint looked about three seconds away from throttling him, so Tony was pretty thankful when Phil’s voice drifted from the hallway.

                “What’s going on? Is there an emergency?”  He came around the corner and in to Tony’s sights, and he was wearing pajama pants and the t-shirt that Clint had been wearing earlier that day.  It was a bright, shocking purple and said “Draw Anchor Aim” on it with a little picture of an archer above the words.  He couldn’t figure out why a guy who usually was so impeccable about his looks liked to wander around at home in archery t-shirts that didn’t fit right.

                “No, everything’s fine. But…”

                “Then we’re done here,” Clint interrupted. “Go the fuck to sleep, Tony,” he said, and snapped the door shut in Tony’s face.

                Well.  Fine then.  See if Tony let him play with his new boomerang arrows.  Asshole.

* * *

 

                “Okay, seriously, I need to know. What is with the shirt thing?” Tony demanded of Clint and Phil, who were sat on the couch in the common living room watching the news.  Today’s model was light gray with a picture of the evolution of man, ending with an archer.

                “Nothing,” Phil shrugged.  “They’re comfortable, they’re around, Clint doesn’t care, so I wear them.”

                “Are you sure?” Tony asked. “That’s it? Because I have to say, that’s boring.”

                “What, did you think it was some kinky scent-marking thing? Staking my claim?” Clint snarked.

                “Well, yeah, kinda,” Tony admitted.

                “Sorry to disappoint, Stark,” Phil shrugged.

                “You guys suck. I’m going to my workshop.” 

Tony grumbled to himself all the way downstairs.  All that time spent thinking about those t-shirts and it was just because they were comfortable? He needed more exciting friends.

* * *

 

                “So,” Clint said as the elevator doors closed behind Tony. “Who knew that whole ‘telling the truth and pretending it’s a joke’ thing would work on him?”


	7. Cosplaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really short, but I honestly wasn't really feeling the prompt.

                “Clint, that is not a costume.  That’s your field uniform,” Phil protested from his seat on the bed.  He was busy tying on his shoes, but he wasn’t even looking at them, instead choosing to narrow his eyes at Clint.

                “Hawkeye is a legitimate cosplaying choice,” Clint answered as he slid his quiver in to place on his back, devoid of any actual arrowheads so it wouldn’t be confiscated.  He’d hate to have to try to explain that to Fury. “Tony didn’t say who I had to cosplay when I lost that bet _and_ you’re not even dressed up, so I don’t want to hear it.”

                “I didn’t lose a bet with Tony, and it’s not cosplaying if you’re dressed up as yourself.”

                “But no one will know it’s me!  It’s not like I’m Steve or Tony. No one’s gonna recognize me, so it’s totally legit.  And it’s not like I have anything else, so it’s Hawkeye or bust.”

                “You’re a cheater,” Phil answered. “But honestly I just don’t care that much.  Its comic con and I’m not going to spend my time arguing in the hotel room.  Let’s go.”

                Clint had been to comic con before (Phil was an unrepentant nerd), but he’d never gone in costume before, and it was pretty surprising how many compliments and nods he got.  Apparently his “costume” was “extremely well-made and paid great attention to detail”.  One girl had even given him a, “jeez, you look just like him!”

                He spent hours tagging along after Phil to make him happy and allowing people to take pictures of him.  It almost felt wrong to be getting so much attention when he was so practiced at not being noticed, but at the same time it was kind of cool.

                “Thanks for doing this with me,” Phil said after a few hours of geeking out, buying merch, and talking shop with a bunch of other nerds. “I know it’s not something you particularly enjoy.”

                “Well, no,” Clint answered. “But you do. And you do stuff with me that you don’t really want to do, so going to geek con once a year really isn’t too much of a hassle.”

                “Despite the insulting undertones, I really do appreciate it,” he said again, leaning forward to press a kiss to Clint’s lips.  Even with his eyes closed, he could see the flashing of cameras from all around them, and heard a random girl whisper, “Oh my god, they’re doing Hawkeye and the Agent! That’s so cute!  I ship those two so much!”

                He wasn’t really sure what that meant, but he just went with it.  It was comic con, after all.


End file.
